When I think about what a good day is, it makes me reflective. When my real memory started, a good day was some ravioli, some Sesame Street and some hugs and kisses from my mum.
When I was seven, a good day was getting the math questions right in grade two, doing well on the playground and getting some hugs and kisses from my mum at the end of the day when she was dead tired.
When I was in grade six, a good day was answering a question in English class, maybe almost kissing a girl and helping my mum with dinner when she got home from work, exhausted.
When I was in grade ten, a good day was making the basketball team, scoring four points and coming home to a hot dinner and watching Magnum P.I. with my mum and my brother.
When I was twenty, a good day was having a pint with James and learning a thing or two in a philosophy class and falling asleep to a Tom Waits record.
When I was 26, a good day was working hard, earning some money and going to see some of the best live music in the city.
When I was 29, the best day of my life was when I met my wife.
When I was 40, a good day was all my friends showing up.
When I was 50, the best thing was all my friends and family paying for my record.
And now that I’m older, I don’t know what’s the best thing about these days. Of course I do. Valerie. Always Valerie.